All We Can Ask For In This World
by Phoebonica
Summary: It's been a good day, and Kit is going home. But a villianous triplet and a near miss remind her that nothing's as certain as it seems. Rated T for mild sexual content


Disclaimer: I do not own ASOUE or anything related.

**All We Can Ask For In This World**

Kit is driving back to the hotel.

It has been a good day. Uneventful, yes, but the uneventful days tend to be the good ones. The ice cream parlour is still standing, and there is a stack of papers on the passenger seat that she will sort when she gets home, and the faint taste of vanilla and cookie dough still in her mouth. A good day.

And… what did she just think? When she gets _home_?

She considers the word. It's something most volunteers wonder about. In Kit's case the Snicket villa, which she was taken from all those years ago, is no longer home, since as far as she knows it's a factory now. There aren't that many fixed places. As a neophyte you were trained to move at a moment's notice, you got used to everything around you changing. Just part of life, even if it meant that you were always tired. You accepted that nothing was stable.

But soon things will be settled. The evidence mounts up by the day. And when Jacques is done with his investigations, when Lemony's name is cleared and he can return from hiding – it won't be long now – when they all come together again at last, where will they come to? The Hotel? She thinks they will.

They'll come to her and Dewey.

_So yes,_ Kit thinks, relaxing into her seat. _That's right. I'm going home._

And as she thinks this, as she smiles and leans back against the headrest, she presses her foot down lightly against the brake pedal and she feels something snap.

* * *

She was astounded when she first saw it. Standing in the middle of the lobby she stood and gazed up at the ceiling, the great dome of it arching above her, until she felt Frank give her a light tap on the shoulder. "Sorry," she said, shaking herself and picking up her suitcase from the floor. "It's a bit overwhelming." 

"It is, isn't it?" Frank looked round the lobby proudly. "I imagine you're familiar enough with the Dewey Decimal System."

"Pretty much. I'm sure I'll pick things up as I go along." Kit laughed. "And if you think I'm impressed, you'll have to meet my brother some time. We always said Lemony would live in the library if he could. This place would be a dream come true."

_And there isn't much that makes him happy these days_, she thought but didn't say, glancing away so that Frank wouldn't see her expression darken. It was a very long time since she'd seen either of her brothers. _But the work we do here will change that._

"The elevators are this way," Frank said, leading her through the crowds. "I'll have someone show you to your room. I'd do it myself, but…" He shrugged. "You can see how busy we are. It's like this most of the time."

"It's okay," Kit said. "I can find my way."

She stepped into the elevator, looking up again at the ceiling as the doors slid closed. There seemed to be a movement in the shadows. A tall figure, almost like a giant insect scurrying out of sight behind a beam.

She remembered the words she muttered to herself for a long time, since they turned out to be so inappropriate.

"What on earth's that?"

* * *

Bright panic shoots through Kit's mind as she jolts upright, gripping the wheel and stamping her foot down again and again with no resistance at all from the pedal. The car rushes onwards, unchanged to an outside observer but Kit knows that now she is going far too fast, a helpless passenger in her own car being dragged along to an inevitable finish. She'll crash, she'll die, there's nothing she can do. 

For a terrified moment she knows this, and then years of training flood back to her and her body moves almost without being fully aware of it. She watches herself, a calm, confident woman who knows that _in a situation like this what you do is shift down to second gear and slowly release the clutch, and while you do that you need to pump the handbrake like this, on, off, on off, but don't pull it up too hard until you're sure you've slowed down enough because if your wheels lock up while you're still going fast you're going to lose control of the whole car._ It's working. She can feel herself slowing but it's not enough, not when she's almost there and the hedges are rising up in front of her.

What else did her instructor tell her? _If you really need to, you can always drive into something._

For a few long seconds the world is brown and green and black and tiny flashes of light, and all she hears is the faint sound of branches snapping and scraping along the roof, across the windows, and then the light is bigger and brighter almost blinding her and she pulls the brake up as hard as she can. Clinging to the wheel as the car shudders and skids across the grass with a grinding shriek of metal and then slowly slides to a halt. Kit switches off the engine.

There's shouting in the distance. Someone is running towards her from the hotel, past the lake and across the grass. It's Frank. He must have been watching from the window. He's here now, flinging the door open and helping her out of the car with one arm around her shoulder for balance although surely she doesn't need him to, she's fine, not even bruised. "Kit, what happened?" he says as they pass concerned guests who are staring and whispering to each other. "Are you all right?"

"My brakes," Kit says, trying to shake him off and stand up by herself because it's not as if she's hurt at all, but she's shivering all over for some reason and the ground seems to be slightly uneven just here so maybe it's all right if he holds on to her for a bit longer. "Someone must have cut them. I think I damaged the transmission," she adds, worried. "There was a terrible noise, I ought to go back and check it, that was a VFD vehicle and we don't have as many taxis left as we used to. It might need repairs. I should go back and check," she explains but Frank's steering her through the lobby now, towards the elevators.

"Kit, I'm taking you up to your room," he says. "You need to rest, you're in shock."

"No, I'm not," Kit says, but Frank isn't listening, he's reached the elevator now and he's pressing the call button. She tries to tell him again but another voice cuts through the chatter of curious visitors before she can speak.

"What happened to her?" Dewey is striding through the crowd towards them, his normally quiet voice raised and tight with fear. He's gone very pale, and Kit breaks free of Frank so she can wrap her arms around his waist to comfort him after the fright he must have had. He holds her gently, stroking her hair. "What happened?" he asks again, quieter this time.

"Someone cut her brakes," Frank says, lowering his voice and looking round suspiciously at the crowds.

Dewey gives a sharp gasp and pulls Kit closer, making it quite difficult for her to breathe. The elevator arrives and he leads her inside, Frank following them. "Who'd _do_ that?" he says as the doors close.

"I think we know," Frank says. "There's only one person who would have the opportunity. Damn him," he adds, under his breath.

Kit tries to ask Dewey if he can let her go now. She wants to tell him that she's fine, completely unharmed, and can one of them go down and take a look at the car or at least go retrieve the pile of documents she's left on the passenger seat. She wants to tell him that, but her head is squashed against his chest and he's rocking her, whispering _don't worry Kit, it's okay, you're safe now, I've got you, Dewey's got you_. She doesn't need him to, _doesn't_, she's _perfectly all right_, but he's lovely and warm and safe and she might as well humour him and let herself be held. The doors slide open again.

They walk her down the corridor, Dewey cradling her while Frank rests a hand on her shoulder as though he's holding her upright, although she doesn't feel likely to trip up any more. Her shaking has stopped, and she's willing to admit that she might have been a little bit in shock earlier after all. But she's perfectly okay now.

Once they've reached the room Dewey lets her go finally. She stands upright, pinning back her hair which has come dislodged and is falling round her shoulders now in tangles. "You see?" she says, smiling serenely at them both. "I'm _fine_." And then she leans over and vomits into the wastebasket beside the bed.

It's one of the most embarrassing things she's ever done. She stares in horror as they both fluster round her again, and doesn't even protest as Dewey eases her down on to the bed and strokes her forehead and pulls the sheets up around her. Frank rushes in to the bathroom and returns with a glass of water which she takes carefully, making sure not to spill any on the covers. He picks up the wastebasket and walks back to the bathroom holding it at arms length.

Dewey follows. As the door closes behind them she hears him speak and is startled at the venom in his tone, a harshness she's never heard from him before. "I'll kill him, Frank," Dewey says. "I will absolutely kill him."

Frank hisses, "Shh!" They go on talking, but it's too muffled for her to make anything else out. She sets the glass down gently and puts her hands over her ears though, just in case.

It must be cold in here, because she's shivering all over again.

* * *

"Too many buttons," Dewey muttered, that first time, Kit stretching out over the pillows while he knelt beside her on the bed already half undressed. "How does a woman who pins her hair up with pencils fasten this many buttons in the morning?" 

Kit giggled, which was a strange sensation for her but one she didn't at all mind. She took his hands and lifted them gently from where they struggled with her blouse. "It takes practice. Do you want me to do that?"

"I think you better had." Kit took over as Dewey slid his legs down the bed, twisting to whisper into her ear. "It's a nice blouse and I've got nothing against it, but if it had stayed on you any longer I'd have had to tear it off, and then you'd never have forgiven me and this whole exercise would be pointless."

"Honestly, Dewey." Kit rolled her eyes, shrugging the blouse from her shoulders and pushing it on to the floor. "You," she added, lying down again and pulling him over on top of her, "ought to learn to control yourself. I guess it's true what they say about librarians."

"I'd have thought this would be the complete opposite of what they say about librarians." He ran a finger slowly down the side of her face. "Who exactly have you been talking to?"

"I've heard stories." Kit shivered as Dewey followed the path of his hand with a trail of soft kisses, continuing down her neck and across her shoulders. "There are those who claim you're all crazed with suppressed desire underneath the tweed."

"I don't wear tweed," Dewey pointed out. "And you shouldn't listen to rumours."

"Oh, is it not true then?" Kit gave an innocent smile, sliding her hand down Dewey's body until it came to rest just above the zip on his neat hotel manager's pants. He gave a tiny gasp. "You're a chaste intellectual type. I see."

"Maybe not completely," he breathed, pressing her closer.

She smiled, running her other hand along his spine. "That's all right then."

They spoke very little after that, except in sighs and gasps and each other's whispered names. What Kit remembered most was how much taller he was than her, the way his lean body pressed against hers seemed to encompass her, shelter her. The way it was all right, then, to let go, to shudder and come to pieces under his equally matched hands.

Because no matter what, he would be there when it was over to bring her back together again.

Her safe place.

* * *

She slipped out after Dewey when he thought she was asleep. He's good at sensing when he's being followed but she's equally good at hiding, and on a day like this it's understandable that he isn't paying all that much attention. And now she's crouching behind a vase in the sixth floor corridor, and she's chewing her fingernails to the quick without realising it, and a few feet away from her Dewey's got Ernest pinned to a wall. 

"If you _ever_ do this again…" Dewey is actually _snarling_ this, and Kit's stomach knots at the fury in his voice, something she'd never have suspected him capable of. It's both terrible and horribly thrilling that this new voice is for her. "The only reason you're still here running this place is because you can hide behind Mom and Dad's will. But if I have to, Ernest, I will not only kick you out of the hotel, I will kick you out of the family. _For ever_. Do you understand that?"

Ernest stares at him in disgust. "Oh God, you're sleeping with her, aren't you?" he says, and Kit tastes blood in her mouth and reminds herself it doesn't matter what he thinks, this is the man who's just tried to kill her.

Dewey's face turns white. "_I love her_," he hisses, and how can something so precious sound so cold? It's like an icicle stabbed through her heart. She inches back into the shadows.

Ernest shakes his head in disbelief. "Jesus, Dewey, you're the one who's telling me to back off? Look, I've heard things about the Snickets. Everyone knows about the Snickersnee and everyone _thinks_ they know about the _Punctilio_, but what none of you 'noble volunteers' ever realise is…"

"I'm not listening to this, Ernest," Dewey says, letting go of his brother's shoulders and turning away. "I've heard enough from you."

"This isn't just VFD politics, Dewey!" Ernest snaps. "I'm telling you this because we _are_ still family, if you haven't forgotten already."

From where she's hiding Kit can now only see a fraction of Dewey's expression, but it's enough to make her glad that she can't see any more. "Kit's family, too," he says eventually, and starts to walk away.

"Ask her about _La Forza del Destino_!" Ernest shouts after him, and the whole world goes silent for a second. Kit shuts her eyes and rests her head against the cool, smooth side of the vase, feeling the corridor tilt and begin to collapse beneath her. Her heartbeat echoes in her chest and she's convinced now that she's going to be sick again, and when she eventually opens her eyes she sees that the corridor is deserted.

She jumps to her feet and starts running. She has to get back to her room, of course, before Dewey notices that she's gone. But mostly she's just running, although she doesn't know where to or where from.

* * *

She never saw it happen. She was walking deceptively fast down the stairs, carrying an empty ice cream tray (because Esmé never even glanced at _staff members_) and listening for the music to stop. Not that it mattered, her part in this was over now. Still she heard it in her mind – the orchestra reaching a crescendo and then falling into utter silence, then a scream from the audience or possibly one of the younger, less experienced cast members, the clamour of hundreds of people shouting… 

Which was how it played out, with only one exception. As the music halted mid-bar there was a shrieking discord from someone misplaying in shock, a grating, wheezing sound that could only have come from one instrument, and Kit though she couldn't afford to stop for anything froze in her tracks. Only one thing could make a sound like that, and only one _person_ would be playing the accordion in an orchestra for an opera that didn't require one.

She shook herself and started walking faster, staring straight ahead as though her mind were on nothing but ice cream even as doors began to slam open all along the corridor. Some things were necessary, that was all. Necessary, even if they were unpleasant. Unpleasant, but that didn't make them _wrong_.

Not anything to be ashamed of. But that still didn't mean you'd want your little brother to see.

* * *

"It was the lesser of two evils," Kit says, looking at the wall behind Dewey's head and very definitely not crying. She's promised herself that that is the one thing she is not going to do. Not even after he's left. 

"Kit," Dewey begins, "I…"

"So now you know," she continues. Her hands, in plain white gloves, are folded neatly in her lap. "I thought I could leave the past behind, but that was naïve of me, of course." She sighs. "It's so tempting, fighting fire with fire. So easy to do it just this once, because this situation is different and you have to, unlike all those other people who did the exact same thing." She shakes her head, looking Dewey in the eyes at last. "Whatever you're about to say, Dewey, I want you to know that these last few months have been wonderful. Truly wonderful. And I'm so sorry you had to find out like this."

"But I didn't," Dewey says. He reaches for her, grasping her arms gently. "I knew about it already. I've known all along."

"What?" Kit gasps, pulls away again. Her hands fly to her face, brushing away rogue strands of hair.

Dewey sits down on the bed beside her, putting an arm around her shoulder. "I never draw conclusions just on one piece of evidence," he says. "And I've seen all the evidence I need about you, and it has led me to the conclusion that you are noble and kind and brave, and you've done things that were all those things and things that were absolutely wrong and things in between. I don't love you for being perfect. I love you for being Kit Snicket, and unless you stop doing that I'm going to love you for a very long time."

He leans in and kisses her. Kit kisses back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing him closer. She doesn't close her eyes.

And she's still not crying.

* * *

The first time they kissed, when they broke apart still breathless and dizzy, Dewey said, "There's something I've been wanting to say for months, but it's horrendously clichéd of me and I need you to promise you won't laugh." 

Kit smiled up at him, still tasting his warmth on her lips. "I won't."

He ran soft fingers through her hair, and gently slipped out the pencils. Long tangles fell down around her face, and she did have to swallow a small burst of laughter, anticipating what his next words would be.

"Why, Ms Snicket," Dewey whispered. "You're beautiful."

* * *

Kit says, "I'm pregnant."

* * *

"Has anyone ever asked you what you want to be when you grow up?" Kit asked, sprawled across the chaise lounge in the Reading Room and chewing on her pen. "I never know what to say." 

"Sometimes." Lemony shrugged. "But I've always known. Madame V. says that you're born a writer, you don't become one. She said that to me, anyway." He cleared his throat and spoke in a pretty good imitation of the tutor's accent. "'You'll never be able to _stop_, dear boy.'"

"I'd like to be an explorer, I think," Jacques said, turning his chair to face them. "Or maybe a detective."

"Teacher," Kit said. "Or librarian." She looked at her left hand, frowning at the thin line of motor oil that had refused to leave her nails no matter how hard she scrubbed. "Or maybe a mechanic. But that's not really my point. I meant, I never know what to tell them because there's only one answer really, isn't there?"

The three siblings looked at each other in silence. Jacques nodded first, then Lemony. You got used to everything changing, but some things were sure.

_You'll be a volunteer.

* * *

_

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

Midnight. Kit is staring up at the ceiling. Dewey lies beside her, fast asleep with one arm draped across her chest. Holding. Enclosing.

Keeping safe.

He was – is still, she must assume, although she can't know what his dreams are – overjoyed, ecstatic. Looking at her with pure wonder as he caressed the place where in a few months time the child inside her will be visible. "Our baby, Kit," he kept repeating. "Our baby."

_Kit's family, too._

She replays the moment when he said that to Ernest, and she tells herself that the words make her happy. This is her home, after all, and now her lover confirms it to the traitor, the doubter. This is where she belongs.

She tries not to think how dark his voice was.

_You are noble and kind and brave. I don't love you for being perfect. I love you for being Kit Snicket._

_Our baby, Kit, our baby._

_You're safe now. I've got you. Dewey's got you._

She looks up at the ceiling and she hears his words, and she tells herself sternly that she is noble enough, kind enough, brave enough. And safe enough.

The sound of the bells echoes, even when the hour has chimed.


End file.
